Purgatory
by carpe.deus
Summary: The arrival of Professor Riddle is swift and suspicious, and Hermione can't help becoming intrigued, just as she is with the peculiar book that she found. The more she discovers, the deeper she descends down a labyrinth of chaos.
1. I

/Tomione; Modern AU.- Teacher/Student /Hermione is a lonely, curious girl and Tom is vile man, both hunger for tragedy.

* * *

" **Let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn."**

Donna Tartt

* * *

I

* * *

She finds the book on an empty park bench. The cover is dark and the pages are thin and a tinge of yellow marks the tips of them. Hermione quickly pockets the slim book into her winter coat and continues home.

That night, she takes the book out and analyzes it in the moonlight. The book, which seems to glow red in the light streaming through her window is a threatening shade of black. The only marking on the leather cover are the initials _TMR_. The pages contain small, precise text that stands out against the white background.

The book feels impossibly warm in her hands, a comforting sense opposing the chill in the air. She opens it and reads the first line: _Death is man's God._

Hermione feels a sense of morbid curiosity settle in the pit of her stomach. Her gut twists as the word _Death_ stands out like a bloodstain on a white blouse.

Her eyes involuntarily continue their feast, _When a flower withers away, and perishes, it is forgotten. But when a person plucks the flower, they in their hands hold the power of death. A man will die and his existence turns into a myth. A man will murder another, and his existence turns into a legend._

She lightly closes the book and swallows the words. The words rest heavy in her head, curving against her skull and pressing on her cranium.

Hermione glances at the clock on her nightstand, it reads 3:11 in sharp red light. The numbers glare at her and she shuts her window. She places the book under her pillow and lays her head against it.

Through the night she feels the book beating against her, like a pulse.

* * *

Hermione's long walk to school is measured in, light steps as her mary janes click against the concrete, and the echo of the leaves she steps on and crushes.

She arrives early and heads to the school library, with a fleeting smile at the librarian she heads to the back, to her own spot.

After skimming and revising her homework, she reaches for the book. The sunlight from the library window illuminates the cover. It glows like an ember.

Hermione cautiously looks around, the knowledge that the library is empty does little to settle her unexplained trepidation.

She continues reading, _What is greater than becoming a God among beings, the essence of humanity is to obtain power. To conquer death, to be immortal are as akin as a wound and blood._

The bell for class rings. The sound cuts through the words that scorch her eyes and leave her breathless.

* * *

Hermione arrives at her designated seat, three minutes late. In her hurry she fails to notice the absence of the regular professor Slughorn.

In his place stands a tall man with fine cheekbones and dark hair. He sets his cold gaze on her and his lips poist to a grim line.

"I do not tolerate tardiness, Miss-?" He pauses in question.

"Granger, sir. I apologize." Hermione responds. She feels her stomach drop, she dislikes having teachers disapprove of her.

"Well, Miss Granger, an apology is hardly a reason to avoid punishment. You will stay after classes." He says. Hermione nods in response and escapes his gaze by glancing down at her fidgeting hands.

Her eyes rise to the board where the words _Professor Riddle_ are written in vivid white chalk.

All students remain silent as the substitute lectures.

* * *

After completing all her classes, Hermione makes her way to Slughorn's classroom to serve her penalty, feeling discontent.

The class is silent and Hermione finds Professor Riddle sitting at his desk, with a book in his hands. He lifts his eyes to her, before she makes her presence known and Hermione is taken aback by the observation of how dark his eyes are. Pupil and iris bleed into each other and form a dark hue.

Hermione takes a seat in the front row, in front of him.

"Professor, how long will my punishment last?" She questions.

Half of a smile slides on his lips as he answers, "Eleven minutes, Miss Granger."

She finds the amount of time odd, but he hardly seems like a person to approve of having his decisions further questioned. His perspective of her is faulty enough, and she reluctantly remains quiet.

Hermione recalls that world war I ended on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. She also recalls that world war II was a continuation of world war I.

She expects him to return to his book, instead he directs a pointed gaze at her before questioning, "Miss Granger, why were you unpunctual?" He stresses her title and Hermione feels abashed. As if he had somehow acquired the knowledge that she possesses such a contentious book.

She feels the presence of the book in the room like one feels pain to a wound.

"I, got distracted reading, professor." She answers as evenly as she can, "I was in the library early, but it seems it was futile as I was still tardy." She continues.

"Pray tell, what book managed to fascinate you so much that it interfered with your schedule?" He inquires. His wording seemed delicate enough, but Hermione couldn't help but linger on his baleful tone. She studied the arch of his eyebrow and the intensity of his eyes, noticing that he was attractive. The observation merely assisted in fueling her unneasiness.

"It's a book I found." She confesses, because it feels impossible to lie under his scrutinizing gaze.

"I am also fond of reading."He replies, and drops the topic in an instant, his eyes slide back to his book.

The book in his hands is pitch black, and his long fingers lightly pull the thin pages. His fingers are thin and straight, and against the dark cover they stand like light. Hermione averts her eyes. She feels uncomfortably warm with his presence.

Hermione takes out another book, and forming a layer between them, she raises it in front of her face. The false protection does little to settle her apprehension. Behind the book she lets out a soft sigh of relief. She doesn't read, behind the book she studies him.

Unbeknownst to her, he is also studying her.


	2. II

_Reviews Appreciated_

* * *

II

* * *

 _Changed Schedule- Late night. Love you!_ Is scribbled on a napkin in the center of the dining table. Hermione lets out a familiar exhale, takes a seat, and begins her meal in silence.

She loves her mother, and understands the importance of her job, but her absence fills the room. She can't help but wonder if her father, in another place, in another house, is having breakfast with his other family that same moment.

The thought feels like a glimpse into a reality. He never had breakfast with them.

Hermione has no doting, married parents, no siblings and no friends. She has divorced parents that care for her, and distant acquaintances, that is sufficient. Besides, she is immensely fond of learning, and her focus in only directed towards her school activities.

She focuses on that latter thought as her figure starts to feel engulfed by the emptiness, and the company of five, empty dining chairs.

The only sound in the large, vacant room, is the click of the silver ware.

* * *

Before heading for school, Hermione makes quick steps upstairs, towards her room. In there she kneels and searches under her bed. Her fingers make contact with the binding of the book and she pulls it out.

It feels cold under her warm fingertips. She finds it eerie that the warmth it had emitted days ago seems to have vanished.

Hermione had concealed the book, unnerved by the profane subjects. She was unnerved, but undeniably, particularly curious.

The weight of it feels like a stone, despite it's small frame. Hermione faintly remembers that Giles Corey had been indicted of impious work, and as a result had been pressed to death with stones. She could easily imagine the book being another stone placed on top of the body.

Her fingers curl around the book, and she stays still for a brief moment. Then she rises and makes her way downstairs, she locates her school bag and places the book inside.

* * *

Professor Riddle's back is facing the class as he writes on the chalkboard and Hermione takes the opportunity to let out a frustrated sigh. He had been substituting for several days and the way he lectured contradicted with Hermione's preference for learning.

He hardly allowed for discussion, and did not bother with questioning if they comprehended. Every lesson ended with a simple "Understood." That did not sit well with Hermione.

She liked pleasing professors, and the validation she received. Having knowledge, voicing her intelligence, and being praised was a sharp contrast to the usual silence she was accustomed to.

Hermione did not feel the need to prove herself to others, she viewed knowledge in a different perspective, but she could recognize the satisfying feeling of feeling aware and prepared.

When he faces them again, his eyes land on her and she manages not to glare at him. The faint lift of his lips and the soft arch of his eyebrow give the impression that he is amused. Hermione almost thinks he is toying with her, taking gratification in irritating her, but dismisses the thought, after all, he is a professor. But doubt still lingers.

She becomes focused on his lips, as they subtlety change and take the form of a straight line. She watches the movement of his mouth, how they stretch and lift, and the rise and drop of the corners of his lips.

Hermione thinks it must be effortless for him to alter his expression, to slip into any facade.

When she raises her eyes, they meet his dark ones and she feels a foreign, sinister emotion spread through her, swallowing her whole.

She turns her head and observes the board where white words, in neat, elegant writing read, " _Look like the innocent flower but be the serpent underneath."_

She knows it connects to what they are being taught, their current read, Macbeth. But she wonders if the phrase is a statement for himself.

"Lady Macbeth's line is meant as advice for Macbeth, however the line itself could be interpreted to connect to other topics. Yes, she is essentially telling him to hide his ulterior and bad intentions behind a false and fine impression. " He pauses and a slip of a smile graces his lips, before he continues, "But Lady Macbeth never says 'you', she directs the line at Macbeth, but it stands as universal."

Hermione's hand rises, it stands firm and straight in midair. Professor Riddle's eyes trace the sight of her hand, from the tips of her fingers to the top of her wrist, where it peeks from her white school blouse.

She feels her pulse quicken and wonders if he can sense her uneasiness. She is essentially showcasing her fear to him, to everyone, merely with the rapid pulse from her wrist in the air. She swallows and keeps her terror in the air.

Hermione feels like Professor Riddle's long fingers are pressed against her wrist, aware of her fear.

"Miss Granger, do you have a question?" He says simply, with a slight nod. His eyes darken.

"Yes Professor, you said that Lady Macbeth's line serves as a line that can be applied to others, but why wouldn't it just be part of her character? " She asked.

"Miss Granger, does literature not have themes that can be applied to the human condition?" He replied with a satisfied smile, when he saw her furrow her eyebrows.

"Yes, it does, but-" Hermione stumbled through her words, as he had made her appear as a fool, "why would _that_ line be universal if it contains dark undertones?" She insisted.

"You'll find that every book implies something about humans, no matter how dark." He stated. Hermione felt the words in the air, as if they reached her and settled on her shoulders.

His eyes, dark and secretive bore into hers. Could he see past her eyes? Behind her orbital socket, into her cerebrum, where the words from the book were carved into her skull? She was sure he could.

When his dark orbs flicker away she feels awake and empty at once.

He continues his lesson, expressing lightly some of his views on Macbeth and his analyzation on the characters and their actions . His voice blends in with the growing silence that Hermione is aware of as she starts to feel as if she is getting farther and farther away.

She wants to tell him that he is wrong, that he is viewing everything from his own flawed, wicked, approach. But she finds that something, in the pit of her, lightly agrees with him.

* * *

Hermione stands outside of Professors Riddle's classroom. No, she corrects herself that this is Professor Slughorn's room, but it feels like a lie.

She presses two soft knocks to the door and waits. Her knuckles feel warm.

"Come in." He replies. When Hermione enters she sees him, sitting at his desk with a splatter of papers around him. He turns to her, and smiles. It would look like a passably genuine smile, if it weren't for the gleam in his eyes. A smile that silently conveys that he knew she would come, that he was waiting for her.

Hermione returns his fake smile, with a false one of her own.

And his smile widens, baring teeth, gleeful when he recognizes his smile on her lips.

"Miss Granger, how may I help you?"Professor Riddle inquires. There's an edge to his tone that she can't construe.

Hermione reaches into her bag for her copy of Macbeth, and her fingers skim over the other book. She stiffens and she can sense him examining her.

There's a shift in the air, as she looks up with the correct book in her hands and he is still focused on her school bag.

"It's quite an intriguing book. Wouldn't you agree?" He claims.

Hermione feels her throat constrict. She nods, "Yes." She confesses.

The reticent smile still adorns his lips, his white teeth exposed. Animals bare their teeth as a threat, to indicate aggression and power.

They are both referring to a book, but she is positive it's not the one resting in her hands.

Professor Riddle puts the papers aside and rests his hands on the table. He interrupts the silence and speaks, "What questions do you have, Miss Granger?"

Hermione quickly skims through the book and finds the correct page, "I had a few questions concerning Lady Macbeth." She announces. "In act 1, sc 5, lines 47-50 say, 'Come, you spirits. That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here. And fill me from the crown to the toe topful of direst cruelty.'"She finishes feeling breathless.

"Do you think Shakespeare was implying that in order for vicious behavior, there must be the destruction or absence of innocence? " She asks.

"In the play femininity is associated with innocence, that is the reason behind Lady Macbeth saying, 'unsex me here', She is willing to have her femininity,her innocence gone in return for behaving more vicious and cruel." Professor Riddle responds. "Shakespeare was implying that it's absence or destruction that makes people wicked." He continues.

He takes a deep breath before smiling, "But we know that's incorrect. Females have the same capability for wickedness. And most people are a mass of interwoven good and bad traits. You can be good but want to do something considered bad." He replies.

Hermione feels uncertain in the way his lips purse when he says 'considered'.

"I suppose, but Lady Macbeth did no good, she was evil." She remarks.

"You think Lady Macbeth wholly evil?" He retorts.

"Yes. She practically schemed the whole murder, merely for her selfish desire of Macbeth being King." She responds, feeling tense.

"I see your point, but then she wasn't very good at being evil then, if the guilt later surfaced and pushed her to death." He utters. The way he presses on the word 'Death' like nothing, like an atheist mentions God leaves Hermione feeling weightless.

* * *

That night she lays on her bed, with the deviant and thrilling book resting on her chest.

The book presses against her softly, beating against her own pulse.

Hermione recalls Professor Riddle. The sight of his handsome face and dark eyes causes more dread than amusement. She feels an antsy heat trap her as she imagines his eyes, shadowy and promising.

The look he had given her was still foreign, but now, she recognized the sinister feeling he had caused.

She had felt as if she was falling.


End file.
